


I Don't Know Nothin' At All

by WildnessBecomesYou



Series: Music is Not the Food of Love, but the Messenger [15]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: 6000 Year Slow Burn, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Established Relationship, Frustrated Crowley, M/M, Songfic, and aziraphale STILL makes crowley work for it, courting, picky aziraphale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-27
Updated: 2019-06-27
Packaged: 2020-05-20 20:03:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,391
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19383739
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WildnessBecomesYou/pseuds/WildnessBecomesYou
Summary: I don't know nothing about thatIn fact I don't know nothing at allSo tired of proving you rightBy doing everything so wrongI don't know nothing about thatIn fact I don't know nothing at allSo tired of proving you rightBy doing everything so wrongAziraphale is a picky bitch when it comes to courting, and Crowley is getting real tired of it.





	I Don't Know Nothin' At All

**Author's Note:**

> Based on Maroon 5's Don't Know Nothing! 
> 
> Poor Crowley :(

It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single demon in the company of a single angel must be in want of that angel. 

It is also a truth that all is fair in love and war. 

In short, Crowley very much wanted to court Aziraphale, and Aziraphale was making it maddeningly difficult, as he always had. 

They’d known each other so long— six thousand years, if you only considered from when the countdown clock started— that he felt the angel actually lived in his thoughts sometimes. He couldn’t always tell what the angel was thinking, but Aziraphale seemed to know him. To Know him.

Even though he hadn’t actually gotten around to _that_ yet. 

Because the angel, bless him, wanted to be courted. The human way. As if Crowley hadn’t been courting him for years, begging the angel to just notice how he felt so he didn’t have to say it. 

But there was also part of Crowley that wanted to be pushed this way, to be forced to do it right. There was part of him that wanted rules to follow, clear meaning behind them. If he were a betting man, he would bet Aziraphale knew this. 

Because Aziraphale knew everything about the demon. 

(Almost everything.) 

The angel had his heart. The angel knew he had Crowley’s heart. He let Crowley lead the delicate dance, but he pushed for more, leaving Crowley with kisses at the door instead of rushing him inside. “Gracious,” Aziraphale would say, “I think that will quite do it for tonight, my dear. I shall see you tomorrow!” 

Crowley sort of knew how to do this. He could make it look like he knew how to do this.

Well, really, he didn’t know how to court the angel. He would say one thing, thinking it would get a laugh, and be met with a frown. A gentle tease about a wing massage would lead to Aziraphale scowling with his cheeks reddening. And every disappointment or redirection set them back what seemed like ten steps. 

Really, Crowley had no idea how he was supposed to be doing all this. It seemed like whatever he did was wrong. He wanted clear instructions here— he needed a rule book, a field guide to angels. 

How to Court an Angel When You’ve Both Saved the World and Your Respective Offices Are Ignoring You, dedicated to Anthony J Crowley. 

It’d be a good present, if anyone decided to write it for him. 

Really, he didn’t want to lose the angel. He was terrified of that. So yes, he would play along if it kept Aziraphale by him. He would follow whatever rules the angel needed. 

He wanted to do this right. He just kept…fucking up. 

And in all honesty, he was still slightly reeling from Aziraphale’s words on a neon night. _“You go too fast for me, Crowley.”_

Even the thought of it made him growl into the wine he was drinking. It had cut deep, and the wound had never truly healed. He hated to think of it, except that here he was thinking about it, and part of his mind was trying to come up with some sort of delicious revenge. 

Had Aziraphale thought that would end things? Was he trying to cut Crowley off, just in case the demon had actually intended on hurting himself? Make it hurt less? 

“Are you quite alright, dear?” Aziraphale asked, raising an eyebrow from his armchair. 

Crowley swallowed thickly. They’d finally made it to the nightcap stage, and he’d just growled into his wine. “Perfectly.” 

Aziraphale frowned deeply. “I don’t like when you lie to me, Crowley.” 

Crowley tipped his head forward, pretending to stick his nose in his glass for the bouquet. He took another sip.

“Crowley, are you going to—“ 

“I’m tired of this shit.”

The blunt honesty made Aziraphale blink in shock. It took him a moment to recover, but when he did, he set down his glass and folded his hands in his lap. After a long moment of silence, he said, “This shit?” 

Crowley set down his own glass, rubbing the palms of his hands against his eyes. His glasses had come off as soon as they’d come in the shop, another tiny rule Crowley had just begun to follow. 

“Yes, _this shit_. I feel like I’ve been trying to guess what you want for six thousand years.” He huffed in frustration, looking up to find a mildly disapproving Aziraphale sitting up straight. “I have been courting you since you bought me a second jug of house brown in Rome. You didn’t notice until the 1960s. And now that you have no one watching over your shoulder you feel free enough—“ the angel’s frown deepened and his hands tightened— “to actually _let_ me court you. But there’s all these _rules_ , and I’m not even clued in on them!” 

He swung a hand out to emphasize the last point, and it knocked his glass over. “Oops, shit,” he hissed, going to fix it, but it was already fixed. 

He looked up to Aziraphale. The angel was still frowning, following every movement. 

Crowley let out a low groan, let it build into almost a scream. “I’m tired of doing it _wrong_ and not knowing why!” 

He was met with silence. 

And then—

“Well, I suppose I need to change some of my behaviors.” 

He looked up quickly enough that his vision blurred at the edges. Aziraphale was staring at his hands, brows bunched together. 

“I— what?” 

Aziraphale looked up, sighed, and ran his hands over his thighs. He opened and closed his mouth (twice). Then he pat his thighs once and stood. 

Crowley got ready to stand, too, assuming he was about to be kicked out. He’d probably have to call and apologize tomorrow, bring flowers or something. 

He was very surprised when Aziraphale sat next to him on the couch, taking one of Crowley’s hands in his own. 

Crowley opened and closed his mouth. (Twice.) 

Aziraphale’s expression slowly slid towards pleading. “Do you remember, after I gave you the… well, when I told you that you went too fast?” 

Crowley scrunched his nose up. “Of course I do.”

“You like fast things.”

Now Crowley was really confused. “Oh…kay?”

Aziraphale looked like he was close to rolling his eyes. “You like fast things, and I…” his lips twitched into a smile, and he put on a mildly robotic voice, imitating some movie they’d rented recently. “I am not fast.” 

Baymax. That’s who he was imitating, Crowley thought dimly. 

“You’re maddeningly slow, yes,” Crowley said, still terribly confused. 

“Too slow for you?” It was a genuine question, actually full of anxiety. 

Oh.

_Oh_ , shit. 

“Aziraphale,” Crowley breathed, turning to fully face the angel and take his hands, thumbs brushing over knuckles in a gesture he hoped was soothing. “Angel, no, never.”

Aziraphale seemed to relax a tiny bit, shoulders sagging forward. 

“Did you really think I was going to woo you and decide I was bored?” Crowley asked softly. “That I would, uh, what’s the phrase—“ 

“Hit it and quit it?” Aziraphale supplied. 

“Yeah, that.”

Aziraphale shrugged. 

This was miserable. Crowley pulled the angel into a hug, relieved when Aziraphale shoved his face into Crowley’s neck. 

“I could _never_ get bored of you, angel. You’re too— oh, I don’t know the word, but you’re too much to get bored of. I’m in it for the long haul. Even if the long haul is eternity.”

Aziraphale mumbled something against his skin. It tickled, and Crowley resisted jerking that shoulder up. 

“Huh?”

“Our side,” Aziraphale said weakly, temple still against Crowley’s shoulder. 

“Our side,” Crowley repeated, “and that means both of us, you silly dork.” 

Aziraphale pretended to be upset with Crowley, smacking weakly at the back of his shoulder, but his giggling gave him away. 

After another long moment, Crowley pulled back enough to make Aziraphale look at him. “Next time, can you just… tell me? It’s not that I don’t like the hoops, I just— I want to know why I’m hopping through them.” 

Aziraphale nodded, and Crowley bent down to touch their foreheads together. “Good,” he murmured, “thank you.” 

“I love you, Crowley.”

It was soft, and gentle, the same way Aziraphale’s hands were when they reached for Crowley’s across a dinner table. 

“Love you too.”

**Author's Note:**

> AzirAPhALe iS pICky bC hE’S InSEcurE


End file.
